


we found love

by desdemona (LydiaOfNarnia)



Category: Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Amnesia, First Meetings, Four Seasons, Honeymoon Hangovers, Kisses, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Selfies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/desdemona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru is a titan on the volleyball court, a shooting star no one can catch. Kise Ryouta is a comet, burning golden and bright as he sears through the sky. Together they form a fireball, an explosion that hurtles to earth at thousands of miles per second.</p><p>A collection of drabbles for <a href="http://ironnheart.tumblr.com/post/144320692357/what-oikise-is-a-week-dedicated-to-our-beloved">Oikise Week!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. day one - distance/reunions

Tooru flopped back on his bed, leaned his head back, and sighed.

There was no response from the figure who had made himself comfortable at his desk. Wrinkling his nose, Tooru kicked the mattress, and sighed again. Loudly.

"What?" Iwaizumi finally droned, more fed up with his best friend's dramatics than actually caring. For Tooru, it was good enough.

"I just..." He tucked his arms behind his head and sighed again, not noticing the way a vein in Iwaizumi's temple throbbed at the action. "I just miss Ki-chan so much!"

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "That's it? Don't you two text every day?"

"Of course, Iwa-chan, but it isn't the same! Ki-chan is busy in Tokyo, and I'm busy here, and we just don't have time to see each other whenever we want! It's awful!" Pouting up at his bedroom ceiling, freckled with glow-in-the-dark stars, he traced imaginary constellations with his eyes. " _Never_ fall in love, Iwa-chan. It only causes you pain."

Iwaizumi was a good best friend. He was sometimes tolerant of Tooru's dramatics, and he made at least an effort to put up with similar antics from the blond basketball player Tooru had somehow become enamored with after attending an elite Tokyo training camp. He even liked Kise, a bit -- someone to distract Tooru from volleyball was always good, and it wasn't as if he was a bad guy or anything (despite his annoying habit of calling him _"Iwaizumicchi"_ ).

The one thing he hated about Kise Ryouta, however -- the one thing he really couldn't stand -- was the fact that he lived all the way in Tokyo.

Iwaizumi hated Tooru’s complaining more than anything else in the world, and recently the only thing Tooru had been able to complain about was how far away his boyfriend was. As a result, Iwaizumi had come to hate the distance between the two lovebirds almost as much as Tooru himself did.

“Cell phones are a thing. Call him. Skype him. Send each other weird selfies, since you love to send them to me. If it bothers you as much as it seems to, do something about it. Complaining isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

Tooru’s mouth dropped open at Iwaizumi’s words, and he sat up straight. The other boy shrugged, fixing him with a level stare, before finally turning back to his homework again.

Tooru frowned, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin upon his knees. He couldn’t deny that Iwaizumi actually had a point -- Iwa-chan, for all his bluntness and lack of finesse, could be very smart when he needed to be.

Maybe Kise couldn’t find the time in his busy schedule to come all the way down to Miyagi -- but Iwaizumi was right. Nothing was going to happen unless Tooru _made_ it happen.

Luckily, Tooru was very good at forcing things to go his way.

**⋆⋆⋆**

It was always a treat to get to hear from Oikawa.

Sure, they texted all the time; they Skyped almost as often, when the desire to see each other’s faces became unbearable. But actual phone calls were rare, and Ryouta happened to like phone calls -- he was allowed to ramble more, and not being able to see the other person’s face meant he was allowed to just _assume_ he was listening to him. (He didn’t have to assume with Oikawa -- Oikawa loved to listen, and never treated Kise like what he was saying was something inane, even when it was.)

Hearing Oikawa’s voice was always a treat; whether it was foggy from sleep, worn out from a long day, or bubbling with enthusiasm after just watching a new sci-fi movie or winning a game. Ryouta loved Oikawa’s voice, for all of it’s cotton-candy sweetness, the way it reminded him of fresh honey on his tongue and made him think of the nights spent together in Tokyo, hiding away from the world and whispering secrets in the dark.

“And so Kasamatsu-senpai got really mad then, which meant I didn’t get to finish talking to them, but the chocolates the girls made were really good! I sometimes wonder what I’d do if I didn’t have so many fans -- I definitely wouldn’t get to have so many sweets, which would be a bore, but -- Oikawacchi?”

This afternoon, though, he couldn’t help but notice that Oikawa was being unusually quiet. He could normally talk just as much as Ryouta during one of their phone calls -- it was rare for Oikawa to be quiet with him, and even rarer for him to call on a Saturday afternoon.

“Hmm?” Oikawa replied, sounding distracted. Ryouta couldn’t help the way his nose crinkled, feeling let down. He’d thought Oikawa was willing to listen to his rambles, at least -- then again, maybe he’d been going on for longer than he’d realized.

“Oikawacchi!” he scolded, making his tone light. “So mean! You call me up in the middle of the day, and just let me do all the talking? That’s not very nice, you know.”

“Maybe I just missed you, Ki-chan,” Oikawa said. His tone was light, but his words sat heavily upon Ryouta’s chest, like stones weighing him down. He felt his shoulders droop slightly, and his lips pursed in a thin frown. He missed Oikawa too -- he missed his face, missed being able to caress his soft skin and run fingers through silky chestnut hair. He missed Oikawa more than he could say, more than he even liked to think about for how much it hurt.

“I miss you too,” Ryouta said, voice soft. “I really do. I wish I could see you again.”

“Make that wish on a shooting star, Ki-chan. They’re supposed to come true that way, you know!”

Ryouta couldn’t help but chuckle, gripping his phone tighter. He could just imagine the glint of teasing light in Oikawa’s eyes, the way the other boy would be lounging on his bed in a loose t-shirt, maybe dangling his legs over the edge of his bed as he talked. Perhaps he would be absentmindedly bouncing a volleyball in the air -- he did that often during their Skype chats. Would he run a hand through his hair, disturbing it from its perfectly mussed state? Would he drum his fingers on his thigh, nails brushing over skin as he pictured Ryouta’s face to match his voice? Was Oikawa imagining what Ryouta was doing at this very moment?

“Next time I see a shooting star,” Ryouta promised, steps light along the sidewalk as his destination came into view, “I will.”

The basketball court was mostly empty -- it usually was at this time in the afternoon. Ryouta was glad; he liked the solitude when he needed to think, even though playing basketball by himself was far less fun. There was a lone figure standing inside the court, back pressed against the chain-link fence as he lounged casually. Ryouta gripped the ball under his arm tighter, lips quirking in anticipation of being able to stand on a court. Basketball thrummed in his veins, as much as volleyball did in Oikawa’s.

“Not that wishes can’t come true other ways,” Oikawa was saying in his ear, his voice a low hum. “Wishes are funny things. You never know what could happen when you make one -- and sometimes they come true at times when you least expect it…”

The lone figure on the basketball court was pressing a phone to his ear. His back was to Ryouta, broad shoulder covered up by a thin blue t-shirt, but that causally ruffled hair was unmistakeable. Ryouta felt his stomach drop to his feet.

It couldn’t be…

And suddenly he was running, tearing across the pavement and straight towards the figure. He couldn’t tell, not for sure, not until he was close enough and the figure was turning around. Dark eyes flashed into view, a lightly tanned face bearing a rosy flush across both cheeks, an almost blinding smile --

_“Oikawacchi!”_

Ryouta’s phone was abandoned, slipping from his hand and down to the grass. The fence caught him just before he could throw himself at Oikawa and he automatically twined his fingers through the chain-link, breathless and wide-eyed. His boyfriend was here, in front of him, and for a rare moment Ryouta was struck speechless.

“It is… _really_ you?” he gasped. Even though he was staring directly into Oikawa’s face, only inches away from his own, a part of Ryouta’s brain was still stuck on the image of Oikawa in Miyagi, where he _should_ be but clearly _wasn’t_ \--

“It’s me, Ki-chan,” Oikawa whispered, and he looked as beautiful as Kise remembered. Sweat caused his hair to cling to his face in dark clumps, his cheeks were flushed bright red from the summer heat, and he still sported that light dusting of freckles across his mose that Kise adored. His voice was wamr and swollen with affection; he sounded so overwhelmingly delighted that Ryouta felt himself begin to fill with a brimming warmth, happiness filling his limbs and pumping his veins. It was the same warmth he always felt around Oikawa; now, with their fingers twined together, the other boy was all too real in front of him.

_“Surprise,”_ Oikawa muttered, and Ryouta longed for nothing more than to kiss him.


	2. day two - firsts

“Sorry about that!” says the boy with a smile that could blind, if Oikawa were so easily taken aback. “I’m Kise Ryouta.”

Oikawa isn't sure what to be more offended about: the utter callousness of this stranger, who just nearly hit him in the face with a basketball and is now grinning at him like he couldn’t have just _died_ \-- or the fact that he’s so attractive.

 _Unfairly_ attractive, in fact. Oikawa might even go for _painfully_ attractive, but realizes at the last second that this is probably a bit much to describe someone he just met. This Kise Ryouta is stunning, in the way models on the cover of magazines are stunning -- golden hair, tanned skin and eyes like dripping honey, with a single piercing in one ear. He looks every inch the Tokyo teenager, and Oikawa isn’t sure if he’s fascinated by him or hates him.

“You should be careful with this,” he says, each word deliberate as he tosses the ball back and forth between his hands. Oikawa has never been able to get the hang of dribbling a basketball, and he can’t shoot to save his life -- but Kise doesn’t need to know that. “You wouldn’t want to dent a pretty face.”

He looks up at him and he can almost taste the other boy on the tip of his tongue, sweet and summery, sweat mixed together with honey. Kise’s eyes glint, catching on Oikawa’s own, and Oikawa can see he’s just as fascinated by him.

“No,” Kise replies, still smiling. “I really wouldn’t.”

Oikawa tosses the ball back to him, suddenly; athletes reflexes allow Kise to easily snatch it out of the air. Oikawa traces the lean lines of his muscles as his arm tucks over the weapon he’d sent hurtling towards Oikawa’s face less than a minute ago, and he suddenly thinks that he wouldn’t mind running his hands over arms like those.

“You're not from around here, are you?” Kise says, and Oikawa shrugs, uncovered. “I can tell. No one who actually lives in Tokyo would walk around with their head in the clouds like that.”

Oikawa scoffs, lightly. His head is _never_ in the clouds. “I was paying attention.”

“Not to the ball coming at you.” As Kise raises the basketball, eyes glinting with amusement, Oikawa yearns to point out that he blocked the ball right before it could take his head off. He bites back the urge, however, sharp gaze scrutinizing the other boy’s fine-bones features.

“Fine, you got me. In Miyagi there's no city life. We all live in hovels, and still farm in the fields to survive. This,” he says in all seriousness, “is the first pair of shoes I've ever worn.”

Kise snorts, and a slight jolt of victory runs through Oikawa at making him laugh. Something about his laughing face suddenly jars his memory.

“You look familiar. We haven't met before, so where have I seen you?”

Kise shrugs his shoulders, an easy movement. He spares half a glance over his shoulder before turning again and tossing the ball behind him. It swishes through the hoop neatly; Oikawa raises an impressed eyebrow.

“Ah, well, I model -- magazines, photo shoots, things like that. You may have seen me.”

He _has_ , Oikawa realizes suddenly; he remembers an impossibly pearly grin, sleek blond hair and bronzed skin. He remembers looking at the photo of that boy and thinking that people would kill to be as beautiful as he is -- and now he's standing here, in front of him.

He nods, stepping forward, closer to Kise -- close enough that he can smell his cologne, a refreshingly cool scent that doesn't overwhelm. “I'm Oikawa Tooru,” he introduces, and Kise smiles again.

“It's really nice to meet you… _Oikawacchi_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty people attract other pretty people. It's science, believe me. (Also, Oikawa's face attracts projectiles b/c he's very hittable)


	3. day three - kisses

He doesn't think he's a poetic person -- but in Ryouta’s arms, with Ryouta’s mouth sucking bruises into his neck and his fingers twined through sun-gold hair, he really could be.

Ryouta is beautiful, in the way he finds his lips on his. He is beautiful in the slope of his back, how his spine curves and dips, the long legs that wrap around Tooru like the most welcome prison. Ryouta is beautiful in the hum that slips out when Tooru presses his lips to his; beautiful in the fingers, long, thin, piano-player’s fingers, that knot themselves in the back of Tooru’s shirt, that curl through his hair and _pull_.

A whimper escapes Tooru, half pleasure and half pain, as his head is jerked back. Ryouta hums again, delighted, and goes after the other boy’s mouth with renewed energy. Ryouta tastes like honey and cherries, sweet, sweet things, and the burst of ecstasy Tooru feels when his teeth dig into his lip is nothing short of blinding.

“Ahh… Toorucchi…”

It's the first time either of them have spoken in what feels like hours -- and its _Toorucchi_ , instead of the usual _Oikawacchi_. It shouldn't get to Tooru the way it does, but he lets out a groan and feels his body bear down on Ryouta, slowly pressing him back against the couch cushions. It shouldn't get his blood thumping, his heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings, the way it does -- but _oh_ , it does, and Tooru is burning.

“Ki-chan,” he breathes against his skin; then, rethinking, he brushes his lips over his fine-cut jaw and amends, “Ryo-chan…”

Ryouta’s nails dig into his skin, and Tooru bears down on him. One knee comes up, slotting neatly between Ryouta’s long legs, and he can feel the other boy instinctively grind down against it. Tooru shifts and Ryouta moans, both at the heat pooling in his stomach and the way Tooru’s mouth is steadily attacking him.

Tooru’s lips are soft and persistent, sucking patterns against the golden tan of Ryouta’s skin. They creep along his jaw, mapping out the underside of his chin, before steadily venturing lower to explore his throat…

Then, without warning, Ryouta lets out the most horrifically mood-killing yowl Tooru has ever heard.

Tooru draws back sharply, wide eyed and stunned. Ryouta’s face is scrunched up as if he’s in pain, and he seems to cringe away automatically as Tooru scrambles off of him, heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t been too rough. He was sure he hadn’t done anything to hurt Ryouta, but if he somehow had…

“Ryo-chan, are you -- are you laughing?”

It’s true; Ryouta’s face is scrunched up, his hands are clapped over his neck, and his entire body is shaking with poorly stifled giggles. Tooru blinks at his boyfriend, trying hard to process a development he can’t seem to understand.

That’s when it dawns on him -- as much as Ryouta loves to kiss his neck, he’s never been allowed to kiss Ryouta’s before. _This_ is why.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just -- I’m _ticklish_ , I’m so ticklish there, I’m sorry Oikawacchi!”

Which… would definitely explain the dying duck noise that had just come out of Ryouta’s mouth. Even as his giggles die down, the other boy doesn't remove his hands from his neck. Blinking tears from his eyes, he grins sunshine-bright up at Tooru.

“You distracted me so much that I didn't even think to warn you!”

Privately, Tooru thinks this is about the cutest thing in the world. The image of Ryouta’s face, flushed with laughter, is burned into his mind. In the warm, half-dying daylight, his boyfriend’s golden hair shines, his eyes gleam topaz bright, his lips are swollen from kissing -- and he is even more beautiful than ever.

“Very mean, Ki-chan,” Tooru mutters in a voice still half a rasp, reaching out and tucking a strand of his boyfriend’s hair behind his ears. “When you do things like that, you make it too easy to fall in love with you.”

“Are you saying you love me?” Kise asks, brow arched. There is amusement in his voice, but an undercurrent of something far heavier as well that leaves goosebumps running up Tooru’s arms.

“I might.” Leaning down again, he plants another kiss in Ryouta’s lips. When he pulls back, his dark eyes shine. “Maybe I love you more than I can say.”

Ryouta beams, twines his arms around Tooru’s neck, and pulls him down to kiss him again. Tooru melts against his lips, and the feeling of bliss is overpowering.

He doesn't try to venture near Ryouta’s neck again, but Ryouta shows him better places to kiss out all the love he doesn't have the words to say.


	4. day four - selfies

It was a contest, really. At least, that's what they'd made it into.

“Oh, _Oikawacchi…”_

He only had the time to register Kise’s sing-song voice, to catch a glimpse of a phone screen out of the corner of his eye, before he was wheeling around and Kise ran, taking off out of the kitchen like a shot. Tooru bared his teeth, narrowed his eyes, and frowned. Like hell was he going to be taken down so easily.

If anyone was the selfie king of Aoba Johsai, it was him. He was legendary for his selfie shots; he would take ones with the entire volleyball team, take ones with opposing teams, and he even managed to snap a shot of him featuring the entire student body during a school assembly. In the game of selfie-taking, Oikawa Tooru was a legend, and he would not allow himself to be beaten in the art of the candid selfie.

Even if the person beating him was cute, blond, and almost as photogenic as Tooru himself. (Almost, because anything more and the two of them in a picture together might make the world implode.)

So, if a battle was what Kise wanted, a battle was what he’d get. They could duel to the death before Oikawa willingly gave up his title of the Selfie King. If he had to take down the love of his life to keep his title intact…

Well, so be it.

**⋆⋆⋆**

Maybe it couldn't really be called a game, because the rules were flimsy at best. No selfies during sex, no selfies while the other was in a compromising position, no selfies without calling them first. They didn't count if they weren't candids, and the person with the most by the end of the week won.

Kise really, really didn't like to lose.

If there was anything he was good at -- besides basketball, of course, but basketball was something he genuinely had to work at, something that he wasn't born able to do -- it was being photogenic. Kise loved selfies -- maybe a little too much. In fact, his former senpai would have asserted that he was obsessed with them, and Kise wouldn't have refuted him. Selfies were just so much fun; you got to take a picture of yourself. It wasn't like modeling, in which someone else posed you, told you what to feel, and controlled every aspect of how you looked. In selfies, you were the one in control, and you could even drag other people into it with you. He loved taking selfies alone, with his friends, and especially with Oikawa.

“Ki-chan, look over here!”

The second he heard the sound of Oikawa’s voice, Kise was moving. In under a second he was airborne, landing hard behind the couch and curling into a little ball. Anything, he thought, to avoid giving Oikawa one more picture for his arsenal. He had already gotten the jump on Kise too many times by now.

Judging from the cackling coming from the out-of-sight doorway, Kise’s own spectacular jump hadn't been effective enough. “I got you, Ki-chan!” Oikawa crowed, and he was already gone when Kise poked his head up from behind the couch.

The blond muttered a curse to himself, pouting at the couch cushions. He would have to step up his game.

**⋆⋆⋆**

“Ki-chan, what -- what are you doing?”

“Selfies, duh!”

It didn't count as a compromising position, technically, since for as naked and drenched as Oikawa was Kise was equally vulnerable. Showering together put them both in unique circumstances, but that still didn't explain…

“Where were you even keeping your phone?”

**⋆⋆⋆**

“Ahh! Oikawacchi, no, _no!”_ Kise shrieked, falling backwards out of his chair. He wound up sprawled, long-limbed and lanky, across the bathroom floor as Oikawa gazed down at the selfie on his phone and cackled.

Kise lifted just his head off of the ground; the cucumber and avocado mask he'd been painstakingly smearing on his face when Oikawa had walked in was only half applied, now smeared across his cheeks. He looked like an alien, Oikawa thought, and chuckled cruelly to himself.

“That isn't fair! Compromising position!”

“But Ki-chan,” Oikawa chimed lightly, slipping his phone back into his pocket, how can it be a compromising position if I think you always look beautiful?”

Try as he might, there was no way for Kise to argue with that.

**⋆⋆⋆**

It was the moment of truth, and baring his phone to Kise’s scrutiny felt like uncovering a part of his soul. Oikawa’s teeth dug hard into his bottom lip as Kise scrolled through the selfies from the past week, critical eyes scrutinizing every one.

It took a while. There were at least fifty selfies, all in various positions at various moments throughout the week.

“How do you even have this much space on your phone?” Kise muttered, and Oikawa couldn't help preening. If Kise looked impressed, then he knew he had to have won.

“Well, Ki-chan,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair (Kise still had his phone, but he was trying very hard not to worry about that, because phone-related anxiety was “the biggest first-world problem _ever_ ”). “I guess I just win. It's okay. Not just _anyone_ can unseat the Great King, you know. No one is better at selfies than I am.”

Kise stuck out his bottom lip, pouting artfully. “No fair! You might have gotten more pictures, but the ones I took are better!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Oikawa waggled a finger in the other boy’s face. “The game was, whoever got the most selfies. I win!”

“But some of these pictures are awful!”

It was true. There was no picture in which they both looked flawless. Instead, the half-candid shots painted a picture of the past week -- from the quiet Sunday they'd spent lazing around the house, the movie they'd seen Tuesday night, how Kise had walked Oikawa to his class Wednesday morning, or the dinner Kise made (and burned) Friday night. None of them were idyllic; some of them were just plain bad, blurred and out of focus with one of them barely in the shot at all.

But Oikawa thought they were all beautiful. Every last one of them.

_“Ki-chan, look over here!”_

_“Here, selfie time!_

_“Smile, Ki-chan!”_

_Oh, Kise,_ Oikawa thought to himself, musing over the pouting face of his boyfriend, _every day I'm with you makes me a winner._


	5. day five - domestic/future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who has no self-discipline and is finishing this a week later??? me. but i FINISHED

When he opens his eyes, everything is far too bright, and the pounding in his head definitely isn’t helping.

Tooru lets out a low moan, dragging the covers back over his face. The blissful darkness does wonders for his headache, but it only takes him a few seconds before he realizes that he’s hot -- annoyingly so, and any longer spent hiding away from the morning could very well cause him to pass out and miss most of it. The last thing he wants is to die of heat stroke on the day after his wedding.

“Ryo-chan,” he groans, heedless as to whether his boyfriend -- now husband -- is awake or not. “Next time we get married, let's not do it in the middle of July.”

Next to him, he feels the shift in the covers as Ryouta stirs. An arm suddenly falls over his shoulder, and Tooru isn’t sure whether he wants to groan at the heat of the touch on such a sticky-hot morning, or move in closer. He turns his head to find Ryouta blinking blearily at him, golden eyes reflecting the sunlight streaming through wispy curtains.

“But Toorucchi,” he says, voice thick with sleepiness, “I thought you wanted a summer wedding.”

He had, actually -- he had been the one pushing for it, as excited about the time of their wedding ceremony as he was about literally every other detail, from the cake to the guest list. Ryouta had booked their honeymoon resort: a cute little hotel off the coast of Japan, with a dazzling lovers’ sweet -- and evidently very poor air conditioning.

He huffs, casting an arm over his eyes to block out the light streaming through the window. His head is pounding like a drum beat -- he doesn’t remember much of last night, but he knows they had fun. “Go turn up the air conditioner, I’m melting.”

Ryouta lets out a small groan. “Don’t want to. My head hurts.”

“Ryo-chan…”

“My eyes burn.”

“Ryo-chaaaaan…”

“My stomach feels funny.”

Almost instantly Tooru is leaping away from his boyfriend, eyes wide and entire posture tense. Ryouta has a reputation when he’s sloppy-hungover, and while Tooru isn’t sure just how much they drank last night he doesn’t want to be the one responsible for his husband being sick and miserable all day. One of them will have to get up, and it won’t be Ryouta.

“Fine, fine,” he says with a huff, pushing himself out of bed. The carpet is soft under his feet as he wobbles across the room on unsteady legs, a mix of sleepiness and lack of equilibrium leaving him feel ready to topple at any moment. He finds the temperature dial on the wall, scales it back about as far as it can go, and beats a hasty retreat back to bed.

Ryouta is waiting for him, a lazy smile on his lips and arms spread wide. Without hesitation, Tooru falls into them; immediately his husband has him in a tight hold, pulling him to his chest while his face buries itself in Tooru’s uncombed bedhead.

“There’s glitter in your hair,” he says, sounding baffled.

“Huh,” replies Tooru.

He doesn’t remember there being glitter anywhere around them last night -- but then again, his memory cuts off around the time Mattsun and Makki teamed up with Aomine and Kagami to see who could do the best “couple’s keg stand”. He doesn’t remember how that went, but he can only assume it ended badly.

“My mouth tastes like vodka.”

“My mouth tastes like you,” Ryouta replies, and Tooru smacks him halfheartedly on the chest -- he remembers that part of the night perfectly.

“I want more cake. That cake was really, really good. Is there any left over?”

“We can order any cake you like here,” Ryouta hums, and Tooru thanks the heavens once again for falling in love with someone with such good taste in hotels. As Ryouta peppers lazy kisses along the side of his face, Tooru turns and squeezes his eyes shut.

He still feels drowsy -- relaxed and utterly content in the arms of the man he had married. Maybe falling back to sleep wouldn’t be the worst idea after all.

Ryouta makes a small noise when he notices Tooru drifting off. “It’s ten in the morning.”

“So?” Tooru doesn’t feel like shrugging, so he nudges the other man with his chin instead. “It’s the first day of our honeymoon. We were up most of last night. I think we can afford to sleep in, don’t you?”

Ryouta’s only response is a low hum, firm hands beginning to dig into Tooru’s back. A pleased grin spreads across Tooru’s face -- Ryouta gives the best back rubs, and he knows exactly how much they make him melt. Ryouta wants him asleep just as Tooru wants to be asleep, and he has no doubt the other man will take the opportunity to pepper his face with kisses and sneak a quick honeymoon selfie.

A soft sigh of contentment slips from his lips as he nestles deeper into Ryouta’s arms. He thinks he could stand to spend the rest of his life like this.


	6. day six - seasons

Spring brought with it the first flowers breaking out of the winter thaw, tiny buds of reds, purples, and blues that stole Kise’s imagination away. Birds came out of hiding for the winter, beginning to chirp melodic songs from the budding tree branches. The air warmed, bringing with it the sweet scent of the season.

He always felt lighter in the spring. The air was warmer, the days were longer, and you could exist outside without bundling yourself up in layer upon layer of oppressive clothing. It was easier to play basketball outside in the spring, easier to walk the streets arm in arm with friends, easier to toss your head back and take in the brightness of the world. Kise really did love the spring.

He loved the things you could do in the spring more than anything else. Swimming, going to concerts, riding bikes in the park… and, of course, picnics. Kise absolutely loved picnics.

Oikawa muffled another sneeze into the crook of his arm, followed up by a long and drawn out whine.

“I’m sorry,” Kise said genuinely. “I didn’t know you were allergic to pollen.”

“I’m usually not! I don’t know what happened this year!” His boyfriend accepted the tissue Kise held out to him with a quiet murmur of thanks, swiping at his irritated nose and watery eyes. He looked positively miserable; Kise couldn’t blame him, honestly, but he couldn’t help feel disappointed that their romantic picnic had ended the way it did.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date, Ki-chan,” Oikawa sighed, sinking back into the bus seat and resting his head against Kise’s shoulder. The other boy shook his head, absently running a hand through Oikawa’s artfully messy hair.

“You didn’t ruin it, really,” Kise said. If anything, what had ruined it was the bitter lemonade he’d made that morning; or the sandwiches that had gotten soggy during the ride over, or the blanket he had forgotten to bring with him. A lot of things seemed to have conspired against them on this date -- Midorima might have called it _“fate trying to send them a message”_ or maybe more accurately _“fate clubbing them over the head numerous times in the hope that they’ll figure out they should just stay inside”._

Not that Kise was so easily discouraged. He still loved the spring, and all the change brought with it.

**⋆⋆⋆**

Summertime always reminded Kise of melons -- reasonably, maybe, since as a child they used to be his absolute favorite summer food. He had so many fond memories of sitting outside with his sisters, grass tickling their bare legs as they sat, fingers and faces growing sticky with melon juice. He loved the sweet taste of the fruit, the way it made his tongue dance and every nerve in his body feel electrified for one brief second.

Leaning forward so that his nose was almost touching his boyfriend’s, Kise was practically glowing with excitement. The sliced pieces of melon on the plate between them sat, untouched as of yet, and undaunted in the face of Kise’s tangible excitement.

“I can't believe you've never had melon before!”

“Ki-chan,” Oikawa said, “I _have_.”

“But you've never had these melons! My mom gets these imported specially from a farm in America, and they're the sweetest things you'll ever taste in your life!”

Oikawa wrinkled his nose, eyebrow quirking doubtfully. He could be as skeptical as he liked; Kise didn't care. These melons were a part of his childhood, his quintessential summer experience -- and he was more than delighted to get to share them with his boyfriend.

“Ready?” he asked, raising a slice of melon to his lips. Tooru obediently did the same. “One, two -- go!”

Kise sunk his teeth in, and Oikawa paused just long enough to squawk out, “What happened to three?” before he was doing the same. The fruit tasted heavily of almost cloying sweetness, sugar and juice running past Kise’s lips as he drew away.

Oikawa was blinking down at the piece of fruit in his hands; his impressed expression was unmistakeable. Kise beamed as his boyfriend looked from the fruit, to him, and then back again.

“You were right, Ki-chan. I've never tasted anything like it.”

“You like it, then?”

Oikawa nodded, and Kise set his piece down with a pleased smile. He'd hoped Oikawa would like the fruit just as much as he did.

“You know,” Kise remarked casually, licking his lips to rid them of a drop of sweet juice threatening to make it’s way down his chin, “in English they call them _‘honeydew’_.”

Oikawa frowned, testing this word out for himself. _“Honeydew,”_ he enunciated, words falling awkwardly from his juice-coated lips. Kise beamed.

“Perfect,” he whispered, leaning in and catching Oikawa’s mouth with his own. His boyfriend’s lips tasted devastatingly sweet, and Kise was drawn back into memories of warm summer days spent lazing in the grass.

**⋆⋆⋆**

Autumn always struck Kise as sad, in a way he couldn't explain. It always felt to him as if something was being lost -- fading, withering away, drawing into itself for the cold months. Not just nature, but a part of himself as well.

He didn't like that feeling at all. Kise didn't like things he couldn't understand, although in this world there were quite a lot of them.

“Don't you just love autumn?” he asked with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, flopping down onto his boyfriend’s lap. Oikawa started where he sat, nearly dropping his book onto Kise’s face before catching himself just in time.

“Hmm? It's only September. Is it really autumn yet?”

“The leaves are dying. It's autumn.” Kise thought with no small degree of dismay of the trees outside, bright green colors slowly withering to tones of vibrant oranges and reds before they would turn brown and frail, falling to the ground forever.

He didn't like watching things die. There was something depressing about it, even if it was a very beautiful sort of death.

The other man hummed in concession. Oikawa could sense his boyfriend’s subdued mood, Kise could tell, and it frustrated him. He couldn't deny the comfortable feeling of Oikawa’s fingers winding through his hair, twisting golden strange and thing just lightly enough to send tiny bursts of euphoria running down Kise’s neck. Oikawa always knew just what to do to get under his skin, for better or for worse -- it was one of the risks of having a boyfriend so dangerously intuitive.

“But aren't you excited for the other things about fall? Halloween’s coming up! Ahh, Ki-chan, we’re still doing those couple’s outfits, aren't we?”

Kise nodded his head in agreement -- he and Oikawa were both going as their favorite anime couple, and they'd already ordered most of the costume parts for themselves. Oikawa visibly lit up every time the subject of Halloween came up, and Kise couldn't find it anything but absolutely adorable.

“And apple cider, don't you love that? Not to mention boots, and pumpkins, and cinnamon, and --”

 _“Pumpkin spiced lattes,”_ they said together. Oikawa beamed; Kise, in spite of his previous reservations, couldn't help but find himself grinning back. There were things about Oikawa that were absolutely infectious, and his enthusiasm was one of them.

“Not to mention…” Oikawa leaned in close, just near enough to Kise’s ear that he could plant a kiss behind it. “I met you in the fall, remember?”

Kise’s lips stretched into a smaller, more reflective smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember that.”

Now that he really thought about it, maybe this autumn wouldn't be so awful after all.

**⋆⋆⋆**

Winter was Kise’s least favorite season -- a time of reflection, stillness, things unsaid and undone. In the winter it was too easy to get lost in the dark and the chill, to be dragged back into memories of things he didn't want to think about.

In the winter he surrounded himself with other people more than ever -- his nights a constant stream of meet-ups, dates with friends, and functions with many, many people. Winter was lonely, and if there was anything Kise was afraid of, it was being alone. He kept himself busy. Where winter was freezing, he did everything in his power to make it warm. Finding the beauty in things could be hard sometimes, but Kise tried his best.

Oikawa was beautiful in winter.

His lover’s hair -- already a soft canopy of chestnut, almost highlighted in auburn when hit with the right light -- was a perfect canvas for snowflakes. Strolling together down a sparsely crowded Tokyo sidewalk, it seemed more snow was landing on Oikawa's head than on the ground. His entire hair was powdered with white by the time they finally came to a stop at a streetlight. He was a confectionery-sugared idol, one Kise knew for a fact to be just as sweet.

“Oikawacchi, your hair is white! You look like an old man.”

Oikawa gasped, mouth falling open in shock as he reeled back, one hand clamped over his heart. “Mean, Ki-chan! So _mean_ \-- I could say the same thing about you, you know!”

Kise shook his head; promptly, clumps of icy dust began dropping from his head, landing to pepper his shoulders or feet instead. He let out a short laugh, shaking out his hair, before tilting his head up to grin widely at Oikawa.

“This storm is supposed to be one of the biggest Tokyo’s ever seen, you know!”

Oikawa hummed, seeming amused by the information. “I'm glad I chose this weekend to visit, then! If I were at home, my mom would try to make me shovel the sidewalk, even though she knows how much Iwa-chan likes to do it -- it builds up those muscles of his!”

Kise could imagine them now: Iwaizumi working hard, shoveling snow in heaps from the pathway of the Oikawas home, while Oikawa himself “helped” -- shovel in hand, he'd spend more time flinging snow at his friend than getting any work done. The scene, for all its playfulness, seemed almost idyllic -- a slice of Oikawa’s life that Kise could imagine but not share.

“It's okay,” he said with a bright smile. “You get to help me shovel my mom’s walkway instead!”

Maybe he wanted to be a part of that scene too. No one ever said Kise Ryouta wasn't jealous.


	7. day seven - promises

“Promise you'll text back?”

“I will.”

“Promise me we can Skype this weekend!”

“Ki-chan, we will! I can't go too long without seeing your face, after all!”

Kise threw his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, pulling him in for one last rib-crushing hug. He didn't have much time. Oikawa’s train was leaving in mere minutes. That wasn't enough time for Kise to memorize everything -- from the dip in Oikawa’s collarbone that he’d lavished kisses on just last night, the russet gleam of his eyes, to the hint of dimples that appeared in his cheeks when he smiled. Kise didn't have enough time to count every light freckle, to memorize each detail of Oikawa’s face -- he only had a minute, and he had to make it count.

“I'm going to miss you,” he said. “So much.”

Oikawa nodded earnestly, cupping his boyfriend’s face in both hands. “Me too.”

The train whistle rang out, signaling their time was winding away. Kise swallowed hard, feeling a sting at the back of his eyes. Parting was always the worst part of getting to see Oikawa, and much as he adored his boyfriend he hated having to send him back home -- miles away from him.

The other boy’s eyes flickered towards the train, brow furrowing slightly. “Ki-chan, I need to go --”

“I'll see you soon. A month, maybe. Probably. I'll get to Miyagi and we can see each other --”

“Okay, yes, yes, I can't wait --”

“Neither can I. I really can't.”

Oikawa’s eyes grew warm and soft. Kise swallowed back the lump in his throat and moved in before he could stop himself, capturing Oikawa’s mouth with his own. He only had so much time -- seconds, even. He had to make it count.

Oikawa’s lips were soft against his.

**⋆⋆⋆**

Eyes boring distantly into the blank wall before him, Kise swallowed hard. His cheeks were unashamedly wet, but he wasn't crying any longer; he hadn’t cried since the reality really set in, falling over him like a smothering blanket and causing everything to stop. Now he just felt alone. Sitting on the stupid little wooden bench at the train station, Kasamatsu sitting silently beside him, he wasn't sure he'd ever felt so far away from the rest of the world.

“I don't understand,” he breathed.

Iwaizumi had explained what had happened at Oikawa’s house, when they'd gotten there. They'd only come from Tokyo after Oikawa’s best friend had called, finally explaining to Kise why his boyfriend hasn't texted him back in over a week.

 _An accident,_ he had said. It was freak, and completely unpredictable. They had been in the middle of a game against some rival school, and Oikawa had lost his footing during a set. He'd slipped, fallen, and cracked his head hard against the base of the volleyball post. He'd been knocked out for nearly a minute as teammates buzzed around in a panic, calling for help and desperately trying to rouse their team captain. When he'd woken up in the hospital that night, his memory had been... changed.

Things had gotten better; at first, he hadnt been able to remember much past his first year of high school, but things were coming back to him quickly. Now he could remember most things -- _major_ things, like his favorite foods and movies, his teammates and his best friends. He could remember elementary school, middle school, pretty much all of high school.

It wasn't fair, but to Kise it seemed like the only thing Oikawa had really forgotten after waking up was _him_.

“It's - it's not --” His voice was trembling again, though he oddly didn't feel close to tears. His mind kept replaying that scene over and over: Oikawa’s blank stare as he stood in his front doorway, the furrow in his brow, the words that had passed from chapped lips.

_“Sorry, I don't remember.”_

He had forgotten everything. Every memory, their first meeting to their first kiss, their first time to their last goodbye, had been erased with a single concussion. He didn't remember Kise, and it was impossible for Kise to forget him.

“It's not _fair_ \--” he finally choked out, face crumpling. Only then did he realize he was crying again.

Kasamatsu squeezed his shoulder tightly; he didn't object when Kise fell on top of him, pressing his face into his shoulder. Strong arms wrapped around him, stroking his back in soothing circles as Kise cried out the tears he still could not escape.

“I know,” Kasamatsu muttered, voice low. “It's okay. It's going to be okay.”

It wasn't okay. Kise wasn't sure what the ache in his chest meant, but he had an idea, and he wasn't sure anything would be okay again.

**⋆⋆⋆**

_“Don't forget me while you're gone, okay?”_

_Oikawa laughed, the sound bubbling up from his mouth like musical notes. “Ki-chan,” he said, “don't be silly. How could I ever do that?”_

**Author's Note:**

> I am not fast, so please do not expect me to have all these uploaded by the 7th, but I just wallow in rarepair hell and NEEDED to write a thing -- or several things -- for Oikise week. They are everything good and pure in this world and I love them.


End file.
